Mal. Whilst she lisps, and gives him some court-quelquechose,[375]
Made only to provoke, not satiate:
And yet even then the thaw of her delight
Flows from lewd heat of apprehension,
Only from strange imagination’s rankness,
That forms the adulterer’s presence in her soul,
And makes her think she clips the foul knave’s loins.
Pietro. Affliction to my blood’s root!
Mal. Nay, think, but think what may proceed of this; Adultery is often the mother of incest. 170
Pietro. Incest!
Mal. Yes, incest: mark:—Mendoza of his wife begets perchance a daughter: Mendoza dies; his son marries this daughter: say you? nay, ’tis frequent, not only probable, but no question often acted, whilst ignorance, fearless ignorance, clasps his own seed.
Pietro. Hideous imagination!
Mal. Adultery? why, next to the sin of simony, ’tis the most horrid transgression under the cope of salvation. 180
Pietro. Next to simony!
Mal. Ay, next to simony, in which our men in next age shall not sin.
Pietro. Not sin! why?